Colors can carry deeper meanings beyond sports team loyalties or school affiliations. I discovered this truth during a family trip at Boston’s Logan International Airport.
While I was excitedly selecting Red Sox margarita glasses to bring home, my five-year-old son, Jake, approached me with a determined look.
“Mom!” he exclaimed, glancing at the Red Sox merchandise in my hands. “I’m done with the Red Sox!”
I couldn’t believe my ears. It felt as if he’d declared a dislike for pizza or ice cream.
“What I really need,” he insisted, hands on his hips, “is a Yankees hat!”
Although we reside in Colorado, my family from New England has generously gifted the boys with an array of Red Sox gear—caps, mitts, and matching T-shirts in red, blue, and grey. However, I hadn’t realized that Jake’s identical twin, Ethan, was the one who typically donned those items.
At birth, the twins looked so alike that I panicked when my husband removed their hospital wristbands. How would I tell them apart? I resorted to color-coding their outfits: Ethan wore red or orange, while Jake sported blue or green. This made identification easier for everyone, including me. As they grew, they continued to favor their respective colors.
At preschool, the identifiers “green/blue” or “red/orange” didn’t suffice for their peers. The other kids simply referred to them as “EthanJake,” which they found amusing. It wasn’t until a favorite aunt introduced them to a set of checkers featuring mini Red Sox and Yankees helmets that I began to notice Jake often took the blue and white team.
Now, here he was, standing in front of me in a Red Sox store.
“Mom!” Jake shouted again, drawing attention from all around. “You need to get me a Yankees hat!”
I felt every head in the store turn toward us, as if we’d made a scene. I put down the margarita glasses, stunned. How could he insult my beloved Red Sox in their home city? And worse, while we could find a Sox cap in practically any color, I knew there was no Yankees hat to be found in Logan Airport.
For a moment, I contemplated scooping him up and silencing him before the TSA could intervene. Instead, I knelt down to his level. “Sweetheart,” I said gently, hoping to diffuse the situation. “We’re Sox fans, remember?”
“No, Mommy. No,” he insisted. “I love the Yankees.”
A nearby shopper chuckled at our exchange.
I was about to correct him when Ethan, wearing a Red Sox cap, rushed over to see what all the fuss was about. The atmosphere shifted in the store.
“Are they twins?” the clerk asked, surprised. “Identical? How do you tell them apart?”
“One’s a Sox fan, and the other likes the Yankees?” the previous shopper chimed in. “That’s just wrong.”
As I glanced at Ethan in his red and white striped shirt and then at Jake, the mirror image in blue and white, it struck me.
This wasn’t just about baseball or rivalries. It was a young boy’s quest for individuality.
In my efforts to make it easier for myself and others to identify the twins, I hadn’t considered how it felt for them to be constantly grouped together as “EthanJake,” or to be called the wrong name frequently. Jake didn’t want to wear Red Sox gear because he wanted to carve out his own identity.
I swallowed my personal feelings about the Yankees and promised Jake I would find him the hat he wanted at our local Target. I also began to arrange more individual playdates for each boy and worked with my husband to create alternative ways for others to tell them apart—Ethan is slightly taller, while Jake has eyes that are a bit closer together.
In the end, I even supported Jake’s choice to be a Jets fan over the Patriots (he saved up for a green Jets sweatshirt that he wears all the time). Nobody’s had the heart to inform him that in New York, Yankees fans typically root for the Giants. But I know what Jake would say: there’s a hint of red in those Giants uniforms, which is Ethan’s color.
For more insights on navigating the complexities of parenting and identity, you can check out this resource on the importance of understanding children’s perspectives.
Summary: In a heartfelt moment at Logan International Airport, Claire Thompson learns from her son Jake how a simple desire for a Yankees hat reveals deeper issues of identity and individuality among twins. As they navigate their distinct preferences, the journey emphasizes the importance of supporting each child’s uniqueness.